


Plus One

by ginger_timelady



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21547117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginger_timelady/pseuds/ginger_timelady
Summary: Sarah Jane is back in London after the events of The Hand of Fear. How does she cope? And is all hope lost that the Doctor will return?
Relationships: Fourth Doctor/Sarah Jane Smith, Harry Sullivan/Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8
Collections: Public Call - Doctor Who fic exchange 2019





	Plus One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akingnotaprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingnotaprincess/gifts).



After a surprisingly uneventful train ride from Aberdeen, Sarah Jane Smith unlocked her door and entered her house in Croydon with a feeling of determination.

_I’ve inspiration for a lifetime of stories, but nowhere to tell them. Well, I’ll find other stories, dammit._

Would the Doctor ever find her again? Best not to hope for that. Best to keep going, keep on keeping on.

But when she looked up at the night sky, as she always did – always had – she cried herself to sleep.

The next day she brainstormed half a dozen story ideas and sent out feelers to her old contacts. She did a piece for _The New Statesman_ on the rise of women in the workplace. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it did raise her profile, and soon she found herself writing a follow-up piece on the increasing number of women in the sciences. Right then, she found herself making a few phone calls to UNIT. After all, they had always had a relatively egalitarian approach to hiring. That would be a good place to start.

***

“Hmmm, I would suggest you go to the Ladies’ Pub Night,” said Liz Shaw.

“There’s a Ladies’ Pub Night now?” asked Sarah Jane.

“Well, mostly ladies. Harry Sullivan comes along to ward off the arse-grabbers and let them know it’s best not to wrangle with a Navy man.”

Sarah Jane smiled. Harry had always been sweet.

“Besides,” Liz went on, “we have three new scientists fresh out of uni and they all wanted for us girls to have our own night for pints and fun. No doubt all of them can give you some juicy quotes for your story, and point you to other women elsewhere who’d be willing to talk.”

“Brilliant, Liz. Where and when?”

“Frog & Firkin in Westbourne Green, tonight, 19.00.”

“I’ll be there, and I’ll stand the first round.”

***

It wasn’t too crowded when Sarah Jane entered, and Liz hailed her immediately and introduced her to the three women at the table after she’d hugged Harry. There was Sonali, the biologist, who clearly hailed from Glasgow; there was Caroline, the chemist, who spoke with a mild West Country flavouring; and there was Annabelle, the statistician, who had the peculiar accent of North London. All three were friendly, sharing some great anecdotes for the piece (some amusing, some tragic, some rage-inducing) and giving her phone numbers and addresses for other women to contact for the story.

Harry was unusually quiet, and Sarah Jane wondered about that, until she noticed where his attention was directed. _Oh, dear_ , she thought. _He’s gone head over heels for that girl Annabelle._ It would be amusing, if Sarah Jane herself weren’t heart-broken herself. She wasn’t jealous – there was only one man for Sarah Jane, she knew that – and so she determined to see if she could help things along.

***

“What’s this about, old thing?” asked Harry. “You know how I take my tea, so you may as well get straight to the point.”

Sarah Jane poured, added two lumps and cream, and handed him his cuppa.

“Look, it’s about the new girl at UNIT. Annabelle Lewin? You couldn’t take your eyes off her at pub night.”

He sighed.

“It’s hopeless, old thing. She’s amazing, you know – kind, devastatingly intelligent, witty – but she’s made it very clear it’s completely hopeless.”

Sarah Jane raised an eyebrow. “She’s not interested in men?”

“No, not that. She won’t marry outside her faith, and I’m – well – clearly I’m not Jewish.”

Sarah Jane nodded. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“It’s alright, Sarah Jane. I wish I could be Jewish, though. I think if I were, I might have a chance.”

“Harry,” she said, very slowly, “think about that. You could be. You could – you could change that.”

“I could,” he said. “I know I could, but it doesn’t feel right. To change your very essence, like that, just for love.”

“Well,” said Sarah Jane, “why don’t you look into what it means to be Jewish. What they believe. How they practice their faith. What they do. Maybe it fits you. Maybe it doesn’t. You won’t know until you see.”

“Why this advice?” he said, blue eyes boring into hers. “You thinking about taking up religion?”

She laughed.

“No, Harry. But I’ve thought long and hard about changing everything in my life. I did, for the longest time. And I don’t regret it one bit.”

He nodded.

“I see, now. When you went with him, you went for yourself. And then you –“

“Yes,” she said hastily. “So try it. Even if Annabelle doesn’t want you, maybe it is the thing for you.”

***

Six months later brought them to late December – an especially cold one, with snow on the ground even in London. Harry was now taking instruction under a Rabbi Sacks at Golders Green Synagogue. He looked forward to finishing his conversion shortly before Rosh Hashanah of the following year, and he and Annabelle had announced their engagement. Annabelle and Sarah Jane were now firm friends, and Sarah Jane had marked December 30 on her calendar. That night, the fifth night of Chanukah, she would go to the Chanukah party held by Annabelle’s parents in North London.

“It’ll be loads of fun,” said Annabelle. “Lots of kids, singing, dancing, food – you’ll love it. And Harry and I especially want you there.”

So December 29, Sarah Jane stayed at home, wrapping up gifts in blue and silver paper. She bought toys for the kids. For Mr and Mrs Lewin she’d bought luscious macarons at the finest kosher bakery in London, and (tipped off by Harry to Mr Lewin’s taste in whisky) also a bottle of Scotch from the Jura distillery. She’d crocheted a kippah for Harry, with anchors as a border. Annabelle, who had a weakness for perfume, would be receiving a bottle of Floris Edwardian Bouquet (which had cost a pretty penny but was worth every single one).

It was a quiet night, and once she’d finished wrapping the presents she had no plans other than curling up with a good book and listening to the shipping forecast. But then – out of nowhere, she heard it.

It was the loveliest sound in the whole world, and at first she didn’t want to believe it. She ran outside anyway.

Yes. There it was. That old blue box that she’d grown to love. And then –

“Well, Sarah, have you missed me?” he said, stepping out into the snow. Same as ever he was – great mop of dark curls, toothy grin, long coat and ridiculous scarf. Or was he? His eyes seemed even more haunted than ever.

She ran to him, throwing her arms around him.

“You’re back. But why? What –“

“Sarah, Sarah – I couldn’t do without you. You know that, don’t you? I didn’t, and it nearly killed me on Gallifrey. If you had only been there –“

“Don’t you dare pull this again, Doctor. I’m not leaving you ever again, you hear me?”

“Not again, Sarah,” he said. And for the first time, he bent down and kissed her.

***

The next night was full of unexpected celebration at the Lewin house. The Doctor congratulated Harry heartily, managed not to offend the Lewins, and offered every single child Jelly Babies (Sarah Jane had made a hasty series of phone calls ahead of time to make sure they were kosher).

The gaiety subdued for a moment, as everyone was asked to light their respective menorah. Sarah Jane and the Doctor stood back.

“Harry,” said Mr Lewin, “you are not officially Jewish yet. But in view of how far you’ve come – and because you should learn to do this – tonight we would like you to say the blessing and light a menorah.”

He brought out a very old menorah – clearly well-cared for, and recently polished. Annabelle gasped.

“Dad! That’s –“

“This was my grandfather’s menorah, made in Pressburg,” said Mr Lewin. “See, it’s meant for oil? Here, I’ll fill the cups and put in the wicks.”

Annabelle sniffled. Harry stood, open-mouthed, and then embraced his future father-in-law.

As the wicks were placed, Harry put on the kippah Sarah Jane had crocheted, secured with a bobby pin lent by Mrs Lewin. He recited the blessings as everyone lit their menorahs.

After that came a round of singing at the upright piano, then latkes smothered in sour cream and applesauce, then the sufganiyot, which were rather like filled doughnuts. Finally, filled with rich food and chocolate and Jelly Babies, the children tired and were hustled into bed by their parents, and Harry and Annabelle walked Sarah Jane and the Doctor out.

“I hate to say good-by to you, old thing, but I have a feeling this is it,” said Harry.

“Do you have a date set for the wedding?” said Sarah Jane.

“December 5, next year,” said Annabelle. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”

Sarah Jane shot a meaningful look at the Doctor.

“We will be there,” said the Doctor. “Together.”

“Right,” said Annabelle. “I’ll put you down as Sarah Jane, plus one.”

“Always,” said Sarah Jane.


End file.
